


Black Rocks, Shoreline Sand

by Kawaiibooker



Category: Overwatch (Video Game), The Shape of Water (2017)
Genre: Angst, Captivity, Deaf Jesse McCree, Dragon Hanzo Shimada, Eventual Smut, Interspecies Romance, Language Barrier, Listen... we're in this for the long haul, M/M, Minor cameos by other characters, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sign Language, The Shape of Water AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 05:21:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13827342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaiibooker/pseuds/Kawaiibooker
Summary: For ex-convict Jesse McCree, working security at the facility is a means to an end. Steady income, normal life, right?That is, until the facility's newest discovery turns his world upside down.Again.





	Black Rocks, Shoreline Sand

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-read by [manacci](http://manacci.tumblr.com/), [foemantic](http://foemantic.tumblr.com/), [blanket-hanzo](http://blanket-hanzo.tumblr.com/) and [motherfucking-breadcrumbs](http://motherfucking-breadcrumbs.tumblr.com/). Thank you all for your hard work!
> 
> Minor spoiler warning for the setting of The Shape of Water.

Life had a way of teaching Jesse Joel McCree its lessons the hard way.

Be it the first suspension from school, or that he came home bruised and bloody one time too many for his parents to bear. When he stole his first pack of cigarettes and went hungry for a day, then a week because being a waiter barely pays for rent and you're good enough to serve people food but get fired when you take some home after hours.

Not that he had much of a say in these things. Yes, he cheated on that test and sure, he picked that fight – some things were a _choice_ but others were not, and by the time a guy bought him dinner and offered him a job that actually _pays the bills_ , McCree couldn't give two shits that it's not exactly legal.

Two decades later and he knows that's the moment he flushed the rest of his life down the toilet. Even if someone would be willing to overlook his criminal record – and that's a big-ass 'if' – there's only so many things he can do with his hearing blown to bits.

Turns out letting a teen pick up a revolver as his weapon of choice is not exactly sustainable.

A hand is waved in front of his face. McCree's gaze snaps up to one Ana Amari, who calmly signs, _Brooding again?_

He huffs.

She blinks, unimpressed.  _Your life's not over yet, cowboy._ The movements of her hands are sharp, no nonsense. _Stop sulking and get back on that horse._

 _Yeah, well–_ McCree stops. It's not like he doesn't appreciate his rehabilitation officer's stubborn refusal to give up on him.

But facts are facts. He shrugs.

Yet there's steel in Amari's eyes, in the steadiness of her hand as she holds out a folder with his name on it. Hope is a dangerous thing, a rattler coiled in high grass, jaws wide and poised fangs; one more glance at the expectant arch of Amari's brow and he takes it, grumbling.

His one – only – shot at a future.

Good thing McCree never wastes a bullet.

*

The water has finally warmed up enough that hypothermia is not a serious risk when McCree's phone blares its all-too-familiar alarm, piercing the quiet around him.

He's half-way out the door before he remembers to turn off the shower, stomping past dirty plates and heaps of clothes on the floor with a flurry of curses.

“– fuckin' waste of a damn fine day for these little _shits_ –“

“Dude, enough”, comes the predictable protest from a room over, just as loud as the alarm. “And please tell me you got clothes on this time.”

Fareeha appears in the hallway, arms crossed and patented Amari glare on her face. McCree finishes pulling his shirt over his head, signing along with his words simultaneously. “That was _one_ time.”

She waits until his gaze settles on her lips. “One time's enough, believe me.” A pause.

“What's got Dr. Doom and their minions excited this time?”

“Classified”, McCree says between toeing on his shoes and skimming the memo plastered over his phone's lock screen in a too-bright red. Something about 'urgent' and a 'new project' and _dragons_ , for some reason. He barely suppresses a roll of his eyes.

_Fucking scientists._

“I'll text ya later, 'kay?” A quick kiss to Fareeha's cheek and he's off, chuckling as his phone vibrates with an incoming message not ten seconds later:

 **Lil Amari** , 4:47 pm: I want details. Stay safe idiot

*

Jesse McCree is a lot of things and gullible isn't one of them.

So when he reads 'dragon', he thinks it's a metaphor. Maybe they've found a new kind of those lizard things – _Iguanas?_ – or it's just a damn gecko and they're collectively creaming their pants over nothing.

Wouldn't be the first time, really. Only a few weeks ago, he got called in to guard a silverback that was rumored to be able to speak, yet didn't say a single thing during its time at the facility. Last thing he's heard, they shot it to the moon instead.

He still haunts McCree's dreams sometimes, big sad eyes following his every move behind metal bars.

Thus it's with some trepidation that he finally pulls up to the pinpointed location, the tires of his pickup slipping on wet sand. It's almost dusk; night crawls over the ocean to the shore, the horizon already lost to darkness.

His gaze is drawn to the beacon of light further ahead: mobile floodlights stand a few feet away from the water, cutting through its murky depths where a few lab coats are scurrying back and forth with ant-like business.

“Doc”, McCree nods at a flash of red hair amongst them; Dr. O'Deorain barely spares him a glance, the serene smile on their sharp features widening a little nonetheless. It's only due to their dark lipstick that McCree can make out the words their mouth shapes.

“Mr. McCree, thank you for joining us. Would you mind?”

They gesture towards the commotion. Following them, he's soon given a pair of heavy gloves, some sort of fishing net – reinforced, he notes as it barely yields his testing tug – and a syringe. The liquid inside is clear, inconspicuous.

“Narcotics”, the doctor answers his questioning look. “Use it as you see fit. Preferably _before_ the specimen gets harmed.”

Closer to the water, he can make out violent splashing and a few indistinct noises from those wrestling with... something in it.

McCree swallows.

“What are we dealing with exactly?”

O'Deorain is already snapping on their own gloves, his presence reduced to the periphery of their attention. “Unknown. Doesn't match any of our–”, then they're walking into the shallow waves and their face turns away before he can catch the rest.

 _That's a no on the iguana then_ , McCree concludes with a sigh. He hoists the net higher on his shoulder and makes sure the syringe is uncapped and ready.

_Here goes nothing._

*

In retrospect, a warning would've been nice. Or... anything to prevent how things went down.

Which, needless to say, was near-catastrophic.

The security gate visibly trembles when the mechanical lock slides into place. Only then – with hundreds of pounds of metal between him and the facilities newest discovery – does McCree dare to relax. His phone has been vibrating non-stop in his pocket and now, finally, after a moment to simply _breathe_ , he lets the screen light up, squinting at the barrage of notifications and missed calls.

_Shit._

There's no point in calling back – Fareeha usually rings him for emphasis, a pointed reminder to _answer me, asshole_ , and McCree's sore all over and bleeding too, albeit less now that he's slapped some bandages over the scratches and scraps on his arms and chest.

But he promised some details, and scrolling all the way past increasingly creative variations of his name and some emojis, he types:

 **McCree** , 1:23 am: Sorry Reeha, crazy day. Omw home now

 **McCree** , 1:23 am: Also “Joelster”, srsly?

 **Lil Amari** , 1:24 am: You made me wait.

 **Lil Amari** , 1:24 am: Everything ok?

 **Lil Amari** , 1:25 am: Idiot

McCree smiles on his way to the car park, for once ignoring the CCTV cameras in the corner of every hallway as he lights up a cigarette and texts. They ruined his Sunday. He deserves to unwind a bit.

His pickup feels like a little like home already, its sturdy frame standing between him and the day's events. The motor roars to life, rumbling comfortingly.

 **McCree** , 1:31 am: Brb driving

 **Lil Amari** , 1:31 am: Stop texting or I'll tell mom.

McCree puts away his phone. Never let it be said he can't make smart choices, too.

*

“It's a _what_?”

McCree's shrug is a little crooked, his arms still firmly in Fareeha's grasp. She ignores his hiss of pain as she dabs more disinfectant on the angry red lines criss-crossing his skin.

“Some sorta... lizard hybrid? Hey, I don't–“

Frustrated, he sighs. A kingdom for free hands, both to sign and rub his eyes that itch like hell.

“'m not a scientist, Reeha, and it was already pretty dark out but it– _he_... looked almost human, in a way. Like two legs, two arms, two eyes, nose and mouth kinda thing. Sure, there's the tail–“

Fareeha's head snaps up but she lets him talk, releasing his hands for the moment.

McCree shoots her a grateful look. “Uh, he also got fins? Or something, and scales of course. Dunno. O'Deorain was pretty close to fainting from happiness by the looks of it, so. That can't be good.”

There's a sharp glint in Fareeha's eyes. She knows him, knows him well – and he's sure the thought of that silverback is somewhere on his face, hidden in pre-mature creases around his eyes and the rough stubble on his jaw.

“You think they're gonna, what, hurt him?”

McCree just shrugs. There was no blood, last time; or at least none caught his attention.

After a moment he surrenders his arms again, keeping his eyes on Fareeha's nimble movements, mind slowing down until it doesn't feel like his head is about to burst. Only now does McCree wonder what exactly it is that O'Deorain does with their 'specimens', as they label them. Observation, tests, even experiments?

A light tap to his wrist catches his attention. Fareeha's smile is a touch apologetic.

“Spacing out on me?”

“Ah, sorry. You were saying?”

“All done.” She pats his thigh sympathetically. “Bed time. You look trashed, no offense.”

“No mercy left for an old man, huh?” McCree groans as he stands up. Yeah, his back's gonna kill him tomorrow.

She grins. “I'm all about the truth and nothing but the truth, you know that.”

McCree chuckles, “Yes, Your Honor”, and is out like a light the instant his head hits his pillow.

*

O'Deorain calls him into their office first thing Monday morning, and McCree can't quite ignore the flicker of excitement it brings. His dreams were filled with the trickling of water and shimmering blue scales, and while a part of him doesn't want to add _that_ to less peaceful nights, he wouldn't mind another glimpse at 'Godzilla man', as Fareeha has taken to calling him.

Not that McCree didn't protest that nickname. Vehemently.

The facility is spacious, and O'Deorain's office is no exception. All kinds of formulae, charts, graphs and lists cover the walls, the occasional sketch or photograph a splash of color on an otherwise white canvas. It's clear they keep mostly to their desk, however, as it's stacked with books and documents with a moderate area left to work with.

Their gaze is on him the moment he enters. “Mr. McCree”, they say, purple lipstick guiding McCree's way yet again, “how deep is your understanding of MacLean's Triune Brain hypothesis?”

“Ah, rings a bell”, he lies smoothly, and makes a mental note to google it later. Years of working with O'Deorain and their team of postdocs made him immune to the biology equivalent of technobabble.

“Why?”

O'Deorain's lips purse, humming maybe, after a throw-away comment of “Research purposes”; they press a button on their desk, leaning to the side to speak into a microphone. They wait, and with every second that passes, McCree's confusion mounts. His face remains passive, though.

_Never let them see you sweat._

Finally, the scientist moves, nodding at McCree– No, something behind him. As casually as possible, he glances over his shoulder, feeling something unwind inside. It's Reyes.

His colleague's expression is deadpan as always. The slight tick of his eyebrow seems pleased to see him, though.

O'Deorain is still talking, something about a reassignment, and McCree's mind is already behind those metal gates on the other side of the facility. A hand on his shoulder pulls everything back into focus; Reyes signs _Let's go_ before he turns, military-crisp, and McCree nods at O'Deorain's turned back and follows.

They walk there in silence. Not the uncomfortable kind, the one where McCree can feel the absence of sound like a physical thing between him and everyone else – with Reyes, there's no need for small talk, or heavy-handed explanations.

From the moment they were introduced and Reyes signed back without hesitation, it's been... easy.

With him around, this becomes like any other job they've worked together. Guard duty is something that comes natural to McCree, something familiar from his teenage years, and Reyes carries responsibility like he was born with it. They go through putting on their gear in practiced motions, McCree's still-bandaged arms disappearing under a sturdy jacket and the worn leather of his gloves. After a second of hesitation, he shoves his stun gun into the holster around his waist.

Their eyes meet, and Reyes shrugs, doing the same.

The security gate looms at the end of the hallway but this time, McCree steels himself for what's inside. “Watch the claws, boss”, he tells Reyes over his shoulder as he activates the lock mechanism and together they watch it slide open slowly.

*

In and of itself, Lab 5 is nothing special: tiled floor and walls in a clinical white, a mix of medical and electronic equipment on the one side and the specimen's living space on the other, security cameras in every corner.

McCree's attention is instantly drawn to the fairly large pool of water where the silverback's cage once stood, deceptively calm except for the subtle bubbling in its midst due to the pumps working away underneath it. Beside him, Reyes steps closer to its edge, a look of narrow-eyed suspicion on his face.

There must've been some sort of warning – a noise, perhaps? – because Reyes' hand flies to his holster before a shape in the water moves, rises, breaks through the smooth mirror of its surface; and now McCree can sense it too, the very air around them vibrating with the deep growl emanating between bared fangs.

The specimen's gaze is sharp as a blade, golden eyes gleaming in a sea of cobalt scales that cover every inch of his skin down to fingers that end in blackened talons. Fins fan out where human ears would be, more pointed than McCree remembers from the night before – the flourescent light of the lab's halogen lamps reveals every detail, every answer to the curiosity burning in McCree's chest since he first laid eyes on him, and he's locked in a mesmerized silence as the other stands to his full height, dripping wet and plain _gorgeous_.

Then he takes one step further, and the chains snap in one tensed line from the far wall to his neck. Pain flickers over the specimen's features as he struggles, slips, drops down on all fours, half in the water and half outside of it–

And McCree is pulled back by the collar of his jacket, the alarm on Reyes' face suddenly _there_ , real and immediate. He's yelling, McCree can tell by the way his neck strains, “Are you insane?!”, and instantly the adrenaline registers, the frantic beating of his heart.

McCree just blinks, distracted, trying to catch one more glance at–

But the specimen's gone, leaving only rippling water behind.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Guillermo for giving me the perfect excuse for some Dragon!Hanzo huhuhu.
> 
> I'm finally back from hiatus with some new Mchanzo and whoo boy, this is gonna be a wild one. Obviously this one is inspired by The Shape of Water (which I highly recommend to those who haven't had the chance to watch it yet!) and while there will be some overlap, I fully intend to take it off the rails sooner rather than later and make my own thing out of it.
> 
> For now, thanks for reading! Here's my [twitter](https://twitter.com/kawaiibooker) / [tumblr](http://kawaiibooker.tumblr.com/).
> 
> (And yes, there will be smut. :3c)


End file.
